


First Embers of the Final Flame

by Dustfinger12



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, No Romance, nothing in particular
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dustfinger12/pseuds/Dustfinger12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a random story I did about Straid</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Embers of the Final Flame

           There once was a small town just outside of the capital. A young boy lived there and he had big dreams, but he didn’t know how he was going to get there. Knights bored him. They were always the same muscular meatheads in shiny, flashy armor. Scholars interested him, but no one became famous for their knowledge. Assassins were feared, but they weren’t supposed to be known. It wasn’t until the little boy was twelve, which was too old to start any apprenticeships, that he knew what he wanted. A magician had visited town one day and the boy was mesmerized. He watched as the magician made dragons out of fire that spun around the crowd and made dogs and cats, birds and bunnies disappear. The magician could do anything the boy had decided. This was the way he was going to make a name. He went up to the magician. The magician looked to see the boy and smiled. The boy did not smile back, a determined look in his eyes. He demanded knowledge from the magician. They seemed surprised by this demand, but pulled out a simple leather bound book. “Use this to gain what you want,” the magician said.

            The boy read the entire book in a week, but did not gain any knowledge. He felt cheated and ran to the magician’s carriage only to see it leaving. He ran after it determined to learn what he wanted to know. “Take me with you!” the boy shouted. The magician stopped hearing the small boy’s voice. They saw the boy. “Are you willing to leave your family behind?” they asked when the boy had caught up. He hesitated for a second, but the determined look never left his eyes. He nodded once. “Are you willing to leave your mother behind? You will never see the fields that you grew up in and play with the other children,” they said, “I have been travelling for over fifteen years and have never seen the same village twice.” Again, the boy hesitated, but nodded. “I want to learn what you do,” he said. They seemed surprised, but helped him up. “We leave now,” they said. The boy was about to protest, but knew this was what he wanted. He would never see his mother again, the only person he ever cared about. There was a pain in his chest as he watched his childhood disappeared into the horizon. He thought this would disappear in time, but he was wrong.

 

            The boy trained with the magician and by the age of twenty was considered better than the magician. He missed his family thinking about them every day, but he knew he had made the right decision. He was making a name for himself with his mentor, but his mentor had contracted a deadly illness and didn’t have much time left. Despite this, they taught the boy as much as he could.

 

            The man’s mentor was changing. At first, it was simple things. They would forget where they put an ingredient for a potion or they would accidently mix the wrong potion, but it got worse. They would forget his name or who he was. They would forget the acts for a show and use a wrong spell almost hurting pedestrians. By the end of their life, they had become a different person completely. They were violent, insane. They would attack him. They had no memories and couldn’t remember anything. The magician had turned and he knew he had to put them out of their misery. With a simple fire spell, he watched as him mentor screamed. Their flesh charring, blood boiling, eyes melting. He knew this pain was better than the hell they were living. He thought he would feel good helping his mentor, but all he felt was empty. He had no family and now no friend. He thought of going back to his house, but he was now twenty-three years and knew he couldn’t. The sickness that killed his mentor was still running rampant. It had probably killed his mother as well.

 

            Without his mentor to chain him down, he had finally made a name for himself. He was Straid. He taught at the school in Olaphis, the most prestigious school in the country. He was not safe here though and with his new found position people were willing to do anything for his position. He wasn’t worried. He was strong enough to take them. Soon he would become the headmaster since the old one had the sickness. One thing he didn’t count on though was to become sick himself. He could feel it in his bones that he, like everyone else had contracted, but he didn’t show it. He was Straid of Olaphis. This small illness wouldn’t stop him. He would survive.

 

            Straid had to leave the celebration early. The sickness was worse than usual. He walked down the silent streets of the city. Everyone was either at the party or asleep. Shadows followed him from the tavern and if he hadn’t been so sick he would’ve noticed them. It wasn’t until invisible hands grabbed him and started to drag him that he noticed the shadows. He tried to cast a spell, but they were behind him and they had hold of his hands. They dragged him for an unknown amount of time until they shoved him into a long hallway with many cells. Looking around, he saw a group of his students running away. From behind, he heard claws scraping against the stone. He turned around to see a giant lizard with large bulging eyes. A basilisk was walking toward him. He still didn’t panic as he tried to cast another spell. A sense of nausea washed over him though as he tried. His only weapon couldn’t help him now. He was defenseless. Running to one of the cells, he reached for one of the doors. He felt the metal door against his palm as the basilisk released its poisonous gas. He felt its effects immediately. His skin grew cold and gray as stone, his muscles stiffening. He knew this was his end. He accepted his fate as the petrification entered the final stage turning him to stone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy :)


End file.
